By six or six-fifteen the light had become a bit stronger, although the sky was still overcast. The refrigerator yielded up some yogurt that Hava had left for me yesterday, which I ate with crackers. Then I made the bed and shaved. Meanwhile the water had boiled again and I made myself more tea. Perhaps I should have stayed in bed for another day or two, but I didn’t think twice about it this morning. By seven I was already in Yolek’s office, answering the backlog of letters from the ministry of agriculture, from the regional planning council, from the central bureau of the kibbutz movement. Trying to put the place in a little order, I threw out the old newspapers in the drawers of Yolek’s desk and came across an old pocket flashlight that I stuck in my pants pocket for some reason. Next I had a look at the minutes of last night’s general meeting. (One-hundred-seventeen members were apparently convinced I would make a good secretary. Three were not. Nine could not make up their minds. How did P. vote?)

By now the kibbutz was fully awake. Etan R. drove by the office window on a tractor, pulling a wagonful of fodder to the cowshed. Friend Stutchnik trudged wearily by in the other direction on his way back from the night milking, his boots heavy with mud.

Suddenly Hava burst into the office. Had I gone out of my mind? A man with a hundred-and-four fever running out naked in the middle of the night to go to work! What was wrong with me? Where were my brains?

I asked her to join me for a glass of tea and let me explain her errors one by one. In the first place, it was not the middle of the night, but half-past-seven in the morning. Second, my fever was gone, and I didn’t feel all that bad. Third, I hadn’t gone out naked, but fully clothed. And besides, I had walked, not run. I had work to do, though my brains for it, I agreed, left much to be desired.

“So tell me, Srulik, you must like it here, sitting like a big shot at Yolek’s desk in his swivel chair and going through all his papers. It’s not such a bad life after all, is it, now.”

Her eyes flashed. She was convinced she had found my weak point. I wasn’t a saint, after all. I had my little human frailty, and it could be mounted on a pin in one of her albums and used against me should the occasion arise.

“How is he?” I asked. “How did he spend the night?”